In My Dreams
by blc
Summary: During and after their cases, what does Booth dream about? Smut, angst, making love, occasional violence. Bones prop'y of Fox & producers. Not every episode, but some of everyone's favorite B/B moments.
1. The Woman in the Garden

_**The Woman in the Garden**___

She gives me hell for being late at the funeral after I threatened Ortiz in that alley-- but lets me take her for a drink at Wong Fu's after the funeral, lets me drive her home, even lets me see her up to her door. But then, she grabs me by the tie, and pulls me forward into her. "I know what you did," she whispers, looking me deep in the eye. I don't want to hear what she's going to say next-- it's my turn to talk.

"Don't make me do it again," I growl, then grab her face and kiss her until her knees sag.

"Keys," she gasps when I release her mouth, then fumbles them out of her purse. She nearly drops them and I take them from her, open her door, and drag her, still stunned by my kiss, inside.

I push her backwards into her door again, crushing her body under mine, and kiss her until she whimpers under the assault of my lips. Her hands twine around my neck, and she grows panting and breathless as I shove up that sweater she's wearing over her shirt, then unbutton the shirt so I can latch on to one of her incredible breasts, sucking and kissing her until she's mewling, her legs trembling.

"Oh, Booth, I want you," she moans as I kiss her and suck at her some more, so I oblige, undoing her pants, then mine, before boosting her up against the door. She cries out "oh my God! so good!" when I spear myself into her, then cries out wordlessly as I thrust into her so fucking wet tight unbelievable walls over and over.

"Promise me" _thrust_

"you won't" _thrust_

"do that again" _thrust_

"you" _thrust_

"take" _thrust_

"too" _thrust_

"many risks" _thrust_, I demand, and she moans, head lolling against the door as I try to hold out as long as I can in her incredible heat, wrapping around me like I don't know the fuck what, just better than anything.

"Promise me" I say, thrusting again, and then speed the pace as I start stroking her clit as I hold her up with one hand. She whimpers as I keep it up, her face a rictus of tension and ecstasy as I twist her clit slightly, demanding again. "Promise me."

"I promise," she moans, then moans again as I stroke that hot wet little bud of hers. "Oh, I promise, I promise" she whimpers as I speed up the pace of my cock spearing her and my fingers on her clit.

"Oh! Oh! Booth! Oh, God, Booth!" she starts to cry as her walls start clenching, and I give her one last stroke of my thumb before she totally loses it, screaming as she floods around me, so wet and tight as her grasping walls draw me in further that I explode, shouting "Bones!" as I come. I pant, managing not to drop her, as she moans, aftershocks still passing through her, her walls still massaging me.

"You gonna let me take care of you baby?" I mumble into her shoulder, then grow hard again as she sighs and says simply, "Yes, Booth, always."

She wraps her arms around my neck, starting to lick the sweat gathering at my still-fastened collar, then...

_Fucking alarm. Fucking so goddamned painful hard on, so tight fucking blue balls. No fucking Bones, except in my dreams._

Goddamnit. I threaten that goddamned motherfucker in an alley, how dare he threaten my so fucking hot so goddamned brilliant partner, that goddamned cowardly sack of shit, doesn't he know what she does for all those people we work for, I'll kill him with my bare fucking hands and never regret it if him or his fucking peons lay one finger on her, and then chicken out about making her promise not to take so many risks, not that the conversation would have gone the way I just dreamed it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I thought again, and then grabbed myself to finish the job the dream about her started. 


	2. Two Bodies in the Lab

**_Yes. I know. I shouldn't start a new fic before I've started an old one, and I've got a lot in progress and to finish. But... the muse calls when it does. Sorry. And I don't want to deprive you of smut and making love stories in the meantime. Forgive me?_**

* * *

_**Two Bodies in the Lab**_

__She's standing there in that black dress with that bandage over that goose egg that fucking traitorous bastard, I should have shot him right in the heart, left on her head when he fucking pistol whipped her, pistol whipped her for Christ's sake, having just come back after she stepped out in the hall to take a call from that stupid douche David who she's supposed to be going out on a goddamned date with-- but instead of saying goodbye, she tosses her stuff on the chair just inside the door and sits down next to me. "I've got a headache anyway," she says, but I wonder. She still doesn't look quite like her usually snotty "I'm fine" self, and frankly, I'd just as soon she not go anywhere until that knot that formed in my gut as soon as I realized what Kenton did goes away. Seeing that murderous sonofabitch practically crack her head open didn't do that knot any good either. I'm only starting to feel like I'm not in the middle of a goddamned fucking coronary. If she stays put for a bit so I can just keep checking to make sure she's breathing, I should be just peachy real soon.

So we watch Grapes of Wrath, which she's actually seen before, and then another classic movie after the nurse comes in and checks me out and gives Bones a bit of a look, but which Bones gives back a thousand times worse-- so the nurse leaves and they mostly leave us alone after that. She's leaning against the side of the bed, half curled up in her chair. She kicked her heels off a while ago, and curled those white legs of hers up under her skirt, and all I can see is the back of her head as she leans on her hand, watching the movie. Eventually, though, her head starts to droop, and before I know it, she's fallen asleep, her head lolling against my leg under the blanket. I'm not sure whether to wake her up or not-- they wouldn't have let her go from the E.R. if she had a concussion, but still. At the same time, though, there's no way I want to wake her up. As long as she's asleep right here where I can see her, then I don't have to rip any more IVs out today, which fucking hurt, by the way.

Of course, I can't sleep because every time I close my eyes all I can see is him getting ready to kill her while he's got her strung up like a side of beef, and then how completely terrified she was until I got her down off that hook. I've never seen her cry before, and I know her by now. It may well be years before she lets me see _that_ again. At least the fact that I won't be walking straight for a week gave her something to focus on besides being terrified, so she could get it together around Hodgins and the rest of the tac team. I'd still be bawling from such a close call if my goddamned ribs didn't hurt so much. She's a tough cookie, Bones is.

Somehow, her head resting on my leg is right in reach of my fingers, and without even thinking about it I'm combing some of the strands out over the covers. Soft-- silky, and hey, I'm just a red-blooded guy who nearly let his incredibly brilliant and stubborn and sexy partner get murdered, it's only normal I'd want to make sure she was breathing and have more than a bit of a hardon from being so close to her after all that adrenaline. Only natural. There's nothing more to it than that.

Her hair's so soft, though, and damn if I don't just want to... okay. Stop it. I am not, repeat not, going to molest my sleeping partner with a goose egg on her head that I, stupid asshole that I am, failed to protect her from getting because I'm so stupid that I didn't put two and two together about who would have known where she was going and thus had a chance to take a shot at her, much less plant a bomb in her fridge, even though said hardon keeps reminding me that she's gorgeous and smells amazing and has already said once tonight that I didn't let her down when I did, goddamnit, whether she wants to believe or not. It is not cool to be thinking about what it might feel like to run my fingers through her hair and pull her head back while I lick the front of her...

Stop it. Just stop it. Think of something that makes that ragingly painful hardon crash like a bunch of kids after too much cake at a birthday party. I'm just going to close my eyes and think of something disgusting that will convince my stupid adrenaline-charged dick to calm the fuck down. Except nothing's coming to mind, stupid painkillers working all too well and yet not nearly well enough. I'm not going to think about how nice her hair feels or how nice she always smells or how I don't know what the hell I would have done if I'd gotten there five seconds too late after I'd killed Kenton with my bare hands and I'm not going to get sprung all over again about how relieved she seemed to see me. I'm especially not going to think about how my imagination is definitely getting the best of me because now I'm fantasizing about how she's stroking the inside of my thigh through the blanket. Wait.

I crack an eye, and yep, I'm not imagining it. She's drawing circles on the inside of my thigh as I keep combing my fingers through her hair, and as I shift to sit up a little and look at her, she turns to look at me, a serious expression on her face as she shifts and rests her head, looking me and my enormously painful erection right in the face. The look on her face seems to say the same thing mine probably does.

I want you. Now.

"Stay put," she says, getting up to shut the door, lower the blinds and turn most of the lights off, then comes back and strokes me through the blanket, her expression hungry and something else. She pushes the blanket back as she sits on the side of the bed, and takes in my not-so-little-soldier standing at full attention through my pjs. She looks up at me then, and says just, "push yourself up on your arms." I do, and she pulls my pants down quickly but without making me flinch, and the next thing I know she's somehow settled herself on the bed and her head's in my lap and oh, holy shit.

Wow. Usually those lips are formed around some sarcastic crack or some squint babble I'm only just starting to get the hang of but right now they're wrapped around me. So hot, so wet, and her hand's holding me steady when she lets me go to lick me all over. Her firm velvet tongue's stroking over me like I'm an ice cream cone on a hot summer day and she's got to lick me up before I melt.

"Bones," I hear myself groan, and her breath's hot on me as she says huskily "Just lie back and enjoy it," then takes me into her mouth again.

I try, really I do, and I'm really enjoying it, more than I've ever enjoyed one before, because she's brilliant at this like she's brilliant at everything else, and she's sucking me so slow and hard while she plays with my balls that I can't help but jerk upwards a bit despite my best efforts not to ram down her throat. Any other time than right now slow would be good-- forever would be good-- but I need her now, and I need to see her face, and I need her to not look so scared, so not Bones anymore, and I just need her now. She's already started sucking me faster and if I don't stop her now...

"Oh, God, Bones, stop," I manage to gasp, and she just turns her head and looks up at me with that still-hungry but still scared look in her eye and my desperate cock buried under her silky hair.

"Come here," I say, tugging the back of her head until she sits up most of the way, looking me straight in the face. "I want you to ride me," I say. Now's not the time for romantic speeches, I just need to break through the ice still clenching my heart in my chest and pound that scared look off her face.

"You're too hurt," she says, "just let me do this for you." Oh, God. Any other time but right now, honestly. This is going to seriously hurt, but I don't fucking care.

"Bones, I want you to ride me so hard you forget what your name is," I say gruffly, and she looks a little shocked, but doesn't resist when I tug at her arm.

She kneels up and straddles my lap, the silky fabric of her skirt puddling over my stomach and knees as she grabs the bedframe over my shoulders. I'm running my hands up under her skirt and along the insides of her thighs, her dear God in Heaven toned silky thighs, and she's soaked right through her panties. I shove the fabric aside and she's dripping wet as I drag my fingers over her, and she hisses a breath in, her eyes closed as I look up at her.

I line us up and hold on to my cock as I pull her down toward me, and when my tip's just at her entrance, I pull her down hard, slamming her hips into mine. She grunts when I bang up into her, and I can't help my own "Fuck" when she takes me all the way in.

"Fuck, you feel good," I groan, grabbing her waist as I push her back up only to slam her back down again. She catches the rhythm fast, and her arms are flexing as she hangs on to the bed and rides me harder than I've ever been ridden before. I know I could seriously fuck up my ribs, but I don't give a damn, I just need to feel her alive and screaming around me.

She'd give a thoroughbred jockey a run for his money, and it's the best goddamn thing I've ever seen, how hard she's concentrating and the way her brow wrinkles up every time I slam her down onto me. She's just getting wetter, too, and I'm panting as I grind out, "you scared me so much today, Bones," and she slams even harder onto me, grinding her hips into mine and squeezing me from the inside until I gasp.

"You think... that fridge... didn't scare the life out of me?" she pants, her eyes boring into mine as the sweat beads on her forehead.

"Don't you do that again," she orders, grinding down hard again onto me, but then cries out I when push her up fast and bring her down again. Her head falls forward, and she loses the rhythm, but that's okay because she's not heavy at all and she moves under my hands like putty. She cries out loudly again and I slam her back onto me, then brings one of the arms bracing herself up to her mouth, then bites down as I speed it up even faster.

It hurts like a bitch between the ribs and the collarbone both getting ground around as I pant and use my arms so much to keep pulling her to me, but that's all background to the feel of her walls gripping me and those whimpers she's making as she tries to bite down on her screams so some nurse doesn't come along while I'm pounding the fear out of both of us.

Eventually she's making these little whimpers instead of the fuck-me cries she was making, so I say "lean forward and hold on again" as I give her a little jerk toward me and down. She whimpers again and almost flops forward as she braces her arms behind me again, and as I reach between us to rub her clit as I grit my teeth and start to pump her a little myself, her forehead rests against mine in an echo from earlier-- and she's panting in my face again, too, except this time she just looks dazed and thoroughly fucked and not afraid for her life. That ice cracks and I start to come inside her just as I pinch her between my fingers-- she clamps me so hard that it rips the rest of it out of me and I have to bite her in the arm so I don't roar and make all the nurses come running. She clamps around me again when I sink my teeth into her, and makes this high pitched squealing noise that I'm sure means we're going to get caught as we both pant and moan. But it doesn't seem to be happening, not right now, and she looks at me, sweaty and panting and so alive and says "again." I'm not sure I can keep it up with my cock, I'm really hurting again, but God gave me two hands for a reason. I push her up until I slide out of her, then let my hand trace up her thigh, right before I...

_"What!"_

_What the hell is that noise and who the hell's touching me and where the fuck am I? The nurse jumps two feet in the air, squeaking and dropping the blood pressure cuff she's adjusting._

_"I... I'm so sorry, Agent Booth, I didn't mean to wake you..." she half-whispers, and it's all I can do to not growl at her._

_"What time is it?" I manage._

_"Two-thirty in the morning."_

_I look around, and of course it's just me in the hospital room. "When did Dr. Brennan leave?"_

_The nurse looked rather disgusted. "Oh, just an hour ago. She overstayed visiting hours, she actually fell asleep and was leaning rather too close to your ribs for your safety. I made her leave. She seemed rather confused, but visitors simply can't be allowed to endanger patients' health."_

_She's lucky I don't have my gun. I settle for the dirtiest look of my life when I say something I'd never have the guts to say if Bones was actually here._

_"I'd feel a lot better with her here."_

_I hurt too much to even do anything about the raging boner I've got under the covers after the nurse leaves, and just sigh. It's going to be a long time before I fall back asleep._


	3. The Man in the Morgue

_**The Man in the Morgue  
**_  
It's a long plane ride home and she totally sacks out on my shoulder, and doesn't make a peep the whole flight. I'm hardly going to complain about being her pillow-- she smells like honey and the best apple pie in the world and some other thing that's just Bones-- and though I'm sure she'll tell me to mind my own business, those dark circles under her eyes told me she hadn't slept much the last three days. Not that anyone would. Of course, she insists on going straight to the lab, and bluffs her way through all that memory loss. Voodoo? Maybe not. But more things on heaven and earth? That's for sure. I would laugh at the look on her face when I hold up that earring, except her lip is still split, that bruise is still livid, and that splint on her wrist reminds me all over again of what a close call it was. Damnable stone-faced big-hearted woman goes on vacation to a disaster area, and then runs afoul of a voodoo murderer. I'll be damned if she goes on vacation again without me.

I call her later, though, and she doesn't pick up her house phone. Probably asleep. I hope. So I call her cell phone, and she doesn't answer that either, though she said once she usually keeps it on the nightstand. Still no answer. Damnit. She has that concussion, and she was kind of out of it when I woke her up on the landing approach. Damned woman, thinks she has to make up for our own government's failures like she's doing penance for something, and gets herself hurt and practically rips my heart out of my chest all the way down until I can make sure she's basically okay again. That "no sign of sexual activity, forced or otherwise" was a relief, yeah, but somebody still tried to kill her.

I give her another ten minutes to answer my messages, then figure what the hell. She'll probably forgive me my alpha-male tendencies if I check in on her just once-- even she's got to be grateful for the fact that I just put my career on the line and stole evidence for her-- though I'd do it again, over and over. I know her. I knew she didn't do it.

I let myself in with the key she grudgingly gave me right before her fridge blew me up, and which she'd never asked me to give back to her, trying to keep quiet in case she's actually sleeping. Thank God, she is, but she's totally sacked out on her couch and all twisted around. She's going to have a hell of a crick in her neck if she keeps sleeping like that, and her couch isn't really where she should be sleeping, what with nearly being murdered and all. So I scope out her room and come back, then scoop her up without a peep out of her.

God, she doesn't weigh very much-- guess just her personality comes down like a ton of bricks. Stubborn woman-- she should have had Angela stay with her, I mean, she has a concussion for Christ's sake, and yeah, it's been a few days, but that shit is tricky. Someone should be taking care of her until she's got a week under her belt with no wonky vision or more memory blackouts. And no voodoo shit on her pillow, either. Well, at least it's Friday. Even she won't go into work this weekend. Right? Maybe not.

Wow. King size bed and real linen sheets-- guess she puts all that book money into private luxuries, she's not exactly parading around in Armani at work. But hey, why the hell not, she deserves a good rest-- nothing but the best for my Bones. She doesn't make any peep again when I juggle her and pull back her covers, and just flops back when I set her down. Geez. She's really out of it. Well, I'll tuck her in and go chill on her couch for a bit, check back in an hour or two and see how she's doing.

I'm just deciding to get up and go check on her when I hear it. A whimper. Like a kicked puppy, but louder, and sounding like Bones. She's tossing and turning and making more kicked puppy noises when I stick my head into her room, then lets out a scared-sounding mumble. That's enough for me.

"Bones, hey, Bones, wake up there, okay?" I say, shaking her shoulder.

She flings me off the bed before I even know what hit me. Christ, no wonder she got away if she can go all kung fu when she's still basically sleeping. That fucking hurt. Except she's staring at me in that "_I'm not awake because I'm still in my nightmare_" look Parks gets sometimes.

"Temperance? Bones? Wake up, hey," I try again, and she shakes her head and looks at me, completely confused.

"Booth?" she says. "What..." Her voice doesn't sound quite right-- and then I know why it sounds weird-- she sounds scared. My poor Bones.

"Just thought I'd check on you when you didn't answer your phone, and came in at the wrong time."

She looks around, puzzled. "Thought I fell 'sleep on my couch."

I see my chance. I'm an ass for lying to her, but hey, I've got her best interests at heart.

"I dunno Bones, sleepwalking? That's no good. Maybe you should call someone to stay with you."

She shakes her head again, mumbling an answer. "Mmm. 'M fine. Ange's left fr'th weekend 'nyway. 'Salright."

She swings her legs over the side of the bed like she's going get up, and gets halfway up when she gets crosseyed and sits back down again. I'm squatting in front of her, checking her pupils before she can swat me away, and her "I'm fine" sounds decidedly less strong.

"Fine, my ass, Bones. You go back to sleep, I'm gonna grab a beer and watch your TV. I'll check back on you in an hour."

She shakes her head, more confused than anything now. "Nnn- you've got Parker or something. 'M fine. You-- you have family things," she says, looking both confused and resigned. Jesus-- that's a fucking stab through the heart. She gets the crap kicked out of her, gets suspected of murder, solves a murder, and now she thinks she has to spend the weekend alone.

"Nah. Becs has him off to see her parents this weekend. You go back to sleep, I'm going to start in on the beer in your fridge."

I push her back toward her pillow, and it's a sign of how tired and confused she is that she lets me tuck her back into bed, her eyes blinking shut. My poor Bones.

Of course, a half hour later I'm watching the ball game on low and just starting to really enjoy my beer when I hear that whimpering again, except louder. All that shit's catching up with her-- or it's why she doesn't look like she's slept a wink since I first got down there. She won't appreciate me waking her up again, though, I decide to stay put a bit and see how it goes. It dies down for a bit, and then she lets out this bloodcurdling shriek that curls every hair on my head.

I go in cautiously, not sure if she's going to go all kung fu on my ass again, but she's still asleep and the poor thing's sweating up a storm and definitely doing the kicked puppy thing again. Why's she got to think she's all alone in the world? It's not true.

"Hey, Bones, come on, wake up," I try, but she's not having any of the waking up thing this time.

Before I know it she's crying and I'm holding her in my lap like she's Parker and then she's awake and sobbing except she doesn't know why because "ann--ann--thro-pol-logically sp-speaking once the fl-flight or f-ff-f-ight st-st-mlus is gone the-the-the it- should be better. BBbb-ut it-it-it's hasn't stop-stopped y-yet."

And I know, suddenly, that she's been doing this every single goddamned night since it all started and that's why she looks like a ghost. A beat-up ghost. An unbelievably gorgeous beat-up ghost. And I just want to make her feel better, so I kiss her meaning to just give her a comforting peck, except of course it's Bones, so it's way less like a peck and way more like a "let me make love to you until you never need to cry any more because you know I'll always protect you" kind of kiss. And she kisses me back like she's drowning.

All of a sudden she's naked, and gorgeous, and gasping, and holding onto me while I practically smother her in kisses while I taste every inch of her skin, cup those incredible breasts, murmur comforting words in her ear about how gorgeous she is and how I'm not going anywhere in between kisses and sucks and tastes of her skin and her mouth and her breasts, until I get to her core and she lets out this sigh like she's just had a long drink of water after three days in the desert. She smells like heaven, tastes like it too, feels so incredible under my hands and my tongue in the heart of her, and she's bucking and squirming and calling my name until she comes like a lightning bolt hit her. Her fantastic juices taste even better, though it should be impossible because she already tastes better than the best I've ever had. Christ, she's so unbelievable, and she's still holding onto me like she never wants to let go when I slide into her-- and she's perfect. Hot, wet, and home.

She's calling my name as I stroke her, bringing her higher, and kissing me back like I've never been kissed, and then it's not long before until she can't even talk any more, I'm making it that good for her, right up to the point where I keep stroking into her faster and reach down between us to coax her orgasm from her. And then she comes, pulling me in she's gripping me so hard, and screaming "Oh, Booth, I love you!" which makes me come with a roar and then I start shouting...

_"Fuck!"_

_Goddamnitall to hell. Jesus Christ, this is killing me. Angry for-God's-sake-do-what-I-tell-you sex dreams, yeah, that's fine. Really. '_

_Cathartic we-both-nearly-died sex dreams? I can deal with those too._

_But this one? Hoo boy._

_Ok. The "I'll protect you thing" I get, not like that hasn't happened in the other dreams, too. And of course and hot damn she's gorgeous. But... my poor Bones? My Bones at all? Goddamnit. And... home? And "Oh, Booth, I love you!" _

_I don't need to still be asleep to know what I was going to say next if I hadn't woken up just now. "Bones, I love you too?" _

_When the **fuck**did that happen? And what the hell am I going to do?_

_There's only one situation I can deal with right now, and that's the one saluting me through my shorts despite the holy-fuck-I'm-so-screwed realization that I'm falling in love with my partner. Shit. I'm falling in love with my partner. Somehow that thought only makes me harder, though I ought to be running for the goddamned hills right about now. _

_Goddamnit, I think, then lie back and take hold as I think about the way she tasted and sounded the first time she came in my dream. _

_It does the trick, but it's not the same. Not at all. _


	4. The Soldier on the Grave

_**The Soldier on the Grave**_  
_  
_I should feel better about solving this one, but I don't.

I can't-- for all my lip service about the nobility of service, and dishonor and sacrifice and unquestioning duty, I know damned well that the way they let down Devon Marshall and Charlie Kent is more the rule than the exception these days. They couldn't admit how messed up it all is in order to give Devon all the help he needed to get through it, because face it, despite how fucked up it leaves all of us, some of us are stronger than others, and Jesus said we're supposed to help the least among us. Devon was among the best in going at all, and rendered the least by doing what he thought was right. Sometimes I think the lucky ones are the ones who don't make it back.

But I can't quite bring myself to admit it out loud-- no matter how much they fail us with lack of leadership, lack of training, lack of care or commitment when we come back half-crazy from all the things we've done at their request, the fact is they're just as human and as afraid and as doubtful up the chain of command as the rest of us out in the lines. The fact remains that in the end, it still comes down to me and the decisions I made, as well as the ones I avoided thinking about, avoided making. I'm the one who pulled the trigger each time. I committed myself to it. I made the decision that this was something that needed to be done. That taking other people's lives for my country was justified, when the longer I did it, the less justified, more murky it seemed. But I wanted to be patriotic. God and country and brotherhood and all that. But God and brotherhood? I don't think God would approve of our inability to sort this mess out, to think broadly enough about the bigger picture to stop making it come down to a guy and his spotter hiding behind the smallest, shittiest bit of scree you've ever seen in your life. And brotherhood? Well, the higher ups are more concerned with their own fears to remember whatever they felt when they were out doing the real work. Country? The country part keeps getting in the way of the brotherhood-- I couldn't protect my brothers and carry out my duty to country at the same time.

So they've lost the country part in it all-- the Kents and the Marshalls. While we've given them back the brotherhood between their sons-- perhaps the most important thing of those three-- I can't quite believe that what we've done on behalf of the Bureau in holding the rest of that unit accountable will really restore the betrayal of that part of the country-- the part that's supposed to make us all safe in the first place. Instead, they betrayed country and tried to undermine the belief that these two were brothers when it's an undeniable truth that you don't have to see eye to eye on the politics to still trust your life to someone. That's brotherhood, and they were brothers. They-- she-- but still them, too, in the end-- they tried to turn that into a lie.

And despite how fucked up it all is, I still can't fit words around all this shit in my brain. Hank knows it, the others know it, but even between us we can't really talk about it except by allusion. Yeah, we're on the same wavelength, but are we, really? Do they feel as betrayed and conflicted as I do? Or is it, for them, more a matter of personal regrets rather than a questioning of all the reasons we were there in the first place, whether all the sins of ommision and sins of commission we made served some better good for country? Because they sure as hell didn't serve God. Thou shalt not kill. Pretty clear, that one.

And her. I've been nothing but an asshole to her when she's stuck with me, helping despite the fact that she has no idea what it's like every day to be there, to do the things you no longer believe are doing anyone any good, despite the fact that I keep telling her it's not so simple as heroes and villians when in the end I really know she knows what it means. The country part of it all-- they do need heroes and villians. The being shot at? It's not a good enough incentive. If everyone stopped agreeing to go-- stopped letting the higher-ups disregard God and brotherhood, and the role they really ought to play in deciding what "country" means... well, she's right, even if she says she doesn't believe in the God part. She believes in the brotherhood between those two boys, that was enough for her, that she knew that was the most important of them all. She doesn't need to believe in God to still be doing what He said-- helping the least among us. She does that-- and it's an undeniable truth that you don't have to see eye to eye on the politics to still trust your life to someone.

I need to make her try to understand I know what she meant when she was talking about heroes and villians, despite the fact that it's all a lie-- that every one of us who makes it back is both desperately afraid of and desperately in need of the lie all that "All Hail the Conquering Hero" shit is. We have to get out of bed somehow every day-- we have to believe it had some value, that we had some value, that there was some higher purpose that meant that the intimacy of pulling a trigger and ending another life despite the clearest, most undeniable commands, ones not murky and corrupt like the ones sent down from the higher ups. _Love your brothers_. _Thou shalt not kill_.

_It's never just one person who dies, Bones. Never. Never. _

She puts her hand on my arm-- reaches out to me, squeezes. Doesn't look disgusted. Doesn't get up and leave. Doesn't think it's as easy as heroes and villians. Knows that I don't think so, either.

_You know, we all die a little bit, Bones. With each shot, we all die a little bit._

She keeps just listening, accepting, her face showing no condemnation or anger. She squeezes my arm again, the warmth of it seeping in and battling the cold we all feel every time we have to remember what we've done, all over again. So I cover her hand with my own. _That_ hand-- the one I used to pull that trigger so many times, the one I look at sometimes and think "_If thy right hand __offend__ thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell_."

It's too late for that. I'm already going to Hell. But that doesn't mean I don't have a duty to try to restore a little more brotherhood before I go. And if that means I need to pull the trigger some more, to stop murderers from destroying more brotherhood, then it's worth it, no matter how much it hurts. But still...

I don't know how much longer we sit there until the breeze picks up and the gravedigging crew has arrived, waiting for us to leave so they can fold up the chairs and return Charlie Kent and Devon Marshall to lie with the rest of their brothers. She offers to drive me back to my place, and I let her-- all that anger to solve this is turning to the same shaky, cold grief that comes when we realize all over again that country thinks less of God and brotherhood than it should.

"Mind if I come in so I can call a cab?" she says, and I start, realizing that we've already arrived.

"Sure," I manage. I'd let her just take the truck and go get it tomorrow but if she got pulled over without me the Bureau would kill both of us.

She comes in and calls the cab, gets told it'll be half an hour due to some accident on the Beltway, and says fine. "Sorry," she says, "I'll go wait outside."

My hand snakes out and grabs her wrist before she can touch the doorknob, and I don't know what's come over me, except I'm so cold, and she's warm, and she's looking at me with sympathy instead of disgust, so I pull her to me and kiss her. She's still for a moment before she places her hand at the back of my neck and kisses me back, then stops to look at me and say "It's okay. It's not simple. It's hard. But it's okay. You're okay."

I can believe it as long as I'm holding her, but I'm so desperately cold, still, so I hold her even tighter, hoping she can warm me up, just a little. She pulls my head down and kisses me again, her tongue in my mouth and her lips on mine giving me back breath to breathe and warmth to feel, her hands running up and down my sides as I pull her hips flush against mine.

It's almost as painful to say it out loud as what I said back at the cemetery, but somehow I manage it anyway.

"I need you," I say, and she has that same unquestioning look as she nods and starts to unbutton my shirt.

I finish the job, shedding everything and then taking over for her while she's still stepping out of her skirt, picking her up and sitting her on the counter as I pull her panties and bra from her because I'm still freezing, and if I don't get inside her...

I can't help it, I shout as soon as I fill her, it's like I don't know what, just... better. She's wrapped her arms and legs around me and is giving me that same accepting look as she holds me, just holds me until I'm ready to start, and then suddenly I am. She's so hot, and every time she takes me in, keeps holding me to her as I try to drive it all out, it's like a little bit more of it melts and I'm finally starting to not only feel normal again, but better than I have in years, even. She understands, and keeps holding me, pulling her to me, telling me in that soft warm voice of hers that she knows, and it's okay, and that I'm not a bad man, and that I do what I can, and that I can keep going.

And then all of a sudden, I'm so hot I explode, shouting her name out as my whole body quakes with the force of it, and she keeps holding me, telling me "You're a good man, it's okay, I want you, it's okay for you to need, you're a good man" in this way that I could actually believe as long as she keeps telling me, as long as she keeps looking at me like she understands and still wants to work with me, let me be with her.

When I'm done shaking from the force of it all, she pulls me to her one last time and embraces me, then pushes me back a step so she can scoot down off the counter. Looking at me with that same calm acceptance, she takes my hand and leads me down toward my bedroom. I follow, knowing that as long as she's here I can't be cold, and then I warm up all over again when she says...

_This is too much. _

_I can't do this. _

_I can't do that to her. _

_She needs someone who's not flawed-- not conflicted-- not incapable of getting over things like this so that he can just do his job without his own weaknesses almost preventing us from finding who did it._

_It's a wonder she didn't walk away, didn't let me have it for almost compromising the whole case because I can't deal with my own shit. The mere fact that she didn't walk away from me right at the cemetery-- that she still sat there... still listened… that's more than I possibly deserve._

_I can't do that to her, no matter how much I need her. I need her too much to be good for her. I need too much, period. I can't ask her to heal all the broken things, can't scare her by showing her all the things that are broken. I need her too much to ask her to help me with anything beyond our work, such a small, tiny part of it-- the tip of a black, lonely iceberg she's willing to stand on with me. I can't ask her to dive under the water and deal with the rest of it. That's my burden, not hers._

_But oh, it was nice to warm up just that little bit, where her hand rested over my arm and under my hand those few minutes. It's the first time I've been warm in a week.

* * *

_

**The "If thy right hand offends thee" quote comes from the Gospel of Matthew, ch. 5, v. 30.**


	5. The Woman in Limbo

**The Woman in Limbo**

She's been quiet, her expression alternating between confusion too strong to become anger, though she's trying, and this expression of resigned, utter sadness, like all those Pieta Madonnas my grandmother had hanging in every room in her house. Except none of those Madonnas looked quite as sad or as beautiful as Bones. It'll lift for a bit while we're actively talking about specific facts she can pay attention to, follow up questions she can ask, pieces of the puzzle we can put back together, but as soon as we're at a stalling point, waiting until we can gather the next fact, find the next lead, she falls back into a reverie-- sitting at her desk, staring off into space, or looking out the window in the car as we drive somewhere.

Her confusion that's trying to be anger breaks through a bit, and I'm hoping that's good. The way she belted Russ, made him tell her what he remembered when they were little-- that's definitely good. It's productive, and it snaps her out of it a bit, but now we're standing in the barn of a murderous pig farmer in witness protection full of venomous lies and I want to do nothing more than rip his throat out for making that look of sadness turn into one of betrayal. She doesn't believe him about her mom running off with him, that much is clear-- but the shock that her mother would willingly know him-- and it's clear that he was, he knows too much about them to deny it-- it's too much for her.

So I let the lying sack of shit walk away. I know where he is now, what he looks like-- I can deal with him later. It's more important that she stop questioning who she is-- those tears of hers are killing me. She doesn't know the whole story, we don't know the whole story, and yes, she's right that so much of what happened when she was a kid is upended-- but that doesn't take away from all the things she's achieved since then, who she's made herself into.

_I know who you are. Hey. I know. It's okay. Shh. It's gonna be alright._

She doesn't even hesitate when I hug her, though she's never really let me before, and she feels as small and tired and scared as she did that time with Kenton. I keep repeating myself, because it's true-- I know who she is, now. She can be whoever she wants, no matter who her parents were or are. Finally, she gets some kind of control over her breathing and looks away, ashamed at losing control in front of me. As if being upset at finding out your whole childhood was a lie isn't enough reason to cry.

It takes forever to get back to D.C., the traffic's ridiculous, and by the time we finally get to the beltway it's past dinner and we haven't had any calls from the squints anyway. Without asking, I take her back to her place-- she's hardly said a word the whole time we've been driving-- just sitting there with her elbow propped in the windowframe, chin in her hand as those blue eyes of hers glitter with tears she refuses to continue to shed in front of me. Though I wish she'd just let go around me, I know that this is part of who she thinks she is, who she wants to be, too-- someone who's strong enough to take any hit and keep going. But unlike everyone else, she never gives herself a little time to rest, to think about how she's been hurt, before she keeps going. Even tough guys take R & R.

When I pull up to her place, she doesn't argue when I say I'll come up to order her something-- she just nods, that sad look now full of the strongest, worst look of betrayal I've ever seen in my life. And who wouldn't feel that way, really? But it makes my heart hurt to see how in the space of a two hour drive all the anger has drained from her, the furious version of that spark in her eyes when she's feeling annoyed or just feisty gone dim.

But there's nothing I can do until morning when we get back to the lab-- no concrete way to make her feel better and encourage her that we'll find the answers. Because no matter what the answers are, there are some truths that won't change. Her parents are criminals who endangered her and her brother by associating with scumbags like McVicker, no matter what remorse and attempts to break free came later, and her brother abandoned her, knowing at least some of the truth, and let her live with what he knew was a lie. Maybe he thought it would be better that way, but I find it hard to believe. Even as a kid, I'm sure Bones had to know everything, asked a million questions about what and why and what next-- even then, I'm sure facts and truth were important to her. If Russ knew her at all, he'd have told her-- at least after she was an adult and could make her own decisions about how to deal with it. He could've found a way to tell her. But instead, she's got to revise her whole childhood in the space of a few days, and figure out who killed her mother and how.

So I pay for the food, crack her a beer that I know damned well she won't drink and ask her what she wants to eat first. She's going to want to pretend like everything's normal.

"Whatever," she says, her resignation shading to apathy. My Bones-- apathetic. One word I never thought I'd use to describe her. I make her a plate, just a few bites of each. I know she probably won't have more than a few bites-- she didn't that first night when I brought all that food over-- but some food is better than nothing.

She gives me an absent thanks, a dull look on her face, and absently chews a bite or two as her eyes threaten to spill a fresh torrent of tears. Christ, she'd killing me here. She gives up after not too much longer, so I put my own plate down, trying to find some words to comfort her.

"This isn't over yet, Temperance. We don't know all of what we're going to find. There's still some story left that may well provide a reason why..." I begin, and she just gives me this look-- like I can't even fathom what she's feeling.

I can't. I've had more than my own share of things to deal with, but they were always straightforward, comparatively. The whys weren't hard to guess at, even as much as the results hurt, or were problems of my own making. It's all still better than being hurt, and being unable to grasp why it happened in the first place. There's no _good_ reason for what she's going through, no matter what we find out.

Her mind's running along the same track.

"The why can hardly change what we already know. They... they consorted with that … man … what kind of people do that, even if they regret it later? He's so... so … evil. They couldn't possibly have missed that, made a mistake and thought he was just some simple criminal. What else did they lie about?"

She shakes her head, and a tear or two spills from her eyes. She squeezes them shut, and when she opens them again they're still pooling, glimmering, waiting for that slightest provocation to break free. She takes what looks like a long, painful swallow of beer, then walks to her window, looking into the darkness.

I join her, not really sure what to do. It kills me, seeing her cry, but at the same time I know she's close to a breaking point-- and as much as she'd hate to do it in front of me, she's never been anything but rock solid in front of her squints. At least with me she's let me see her when she's felt vulnerable, and yet hasn't clobbered me or thrown me out on my ear.

I'm more than a bit lost for words. No one deserves this, especially not her. So I try to hug her again, and this time she turns her head into my shoulder, letting me put my arms all the way around her. Her small hands make their own way around me, and she breathes into my shirt, raggedly. We're standing there, I don't really know how long, and I can feel the front of my shirt getting wet, although of course she's one of those silent criers, which makes me feel even worse.

"I'm not gonna say it's going to be alright, Bones, because it sucks big-time right now, but if nothing else you've got to remember that you're your own person, and who you are now has only to do with all the smart and brave things that you've done on your own. That's still the same, no matter what else we find."

She just exhales, this long wavering sigh, so I squeeze her again, then rub my hand on her back when she makes no move to let go. I don't know how long we've been standing there when she finally sobs aloud, her whole chest contorting with the strength of it.

"Oh, Bones," I say, continuing to hold her as she sobs again, each one so forceful and choking I wonder how she can breathe. So I rub her back even harder, tell her she's not alone and she has all the squints and me and now Russ who all want good things for her, and that we all know she's our fierce, brilliant Bones no matter what, but she's crying so hard now I'm not really sure she hears what I'm saying. Finally, she sobs so hard her knees buckle, but fortunately I'm already holding her so firmly that I catch her before she can get anywhere.

I debate for a second. I shouldn't be going anywhere near her bedroom, not one inch further than the bathroom which is right next door and into I have studiously avoided taking so much as a peek, but if I can get her calmed down and ready to sleep then it's better if I don't have to move her around too much once she drifts off. Decision made, I head to her room, find her bed, and sit at the edge, holding her across my lap so I can keep as much contact between us as possible. This is bad, I want her too much, but I just can't stand seeing her feel so alone either.

"Shh, Bones, shh, sweetheart, don't cry so hard," I try, rocking her a bit as she seems to cry out every bit of suppressed bit of feeling abandoned for the last fifteen years all at once. "You didn't do anything to deserve any of this, and you're too smart and too brave and too all sorts of good things to let this get the better of you, hmm?"

She sobs again, hiccuping, then speaks for the first time since she thanked me for the food she had no intention of eating. "I'm not... I'm not lovable... and they didn't stay because I'm not... and Russ didn't... and nobody wanted me after... I don't know _why_, but I'm not... and...nobody wants me..." and then breaks into a fresh spate of crying.

I grab her chin and make her look at me, so pissed off at everyone else that what I say next comes out a little more hotly than I intended, but it seems to get the point across.

"You. Are. Wanted. People. Love. You. Angela. Loves. You. All. The. Squints. Love. You. _I. Love. You_."

And then, because I can't stand to see that lost look in her eyes I grab the back of her head and crash my lips onto hers and kiss her until she's kissing me back. She's still got tears welling out of her eyes, but at least she's not sobbing any more, so I turn and sit her on the bed and start covering her with hard, sucking kisses, hoping to get through to her that she's vital and lovable and strong and all sorts of things that anyone who knows her at all would never question.

By the time I've gotten her undressed, she's gasping and writhing under my mouth, which is a hell of a lot better than how hard she's been crying, so I keep kissing her and stroking her hard with my hands so she knows she's not alone. By the time I get myself undressed, she's holding onto me, and when I bend my head to take one of her breasts in my mouth as I slide a finger inside her soft satin core, she's arching against me, her back bowing against the arm I've slipped under her back to hold her to me. She moans as I continue to stroke my finger inside her, and when I slide in another finger she gasps, her eyes snapping open when I look up at her to see her reaction. "Seeley," she half-sighs, half-moans, then moans again when I continue to build her with my fingers and mouth.

"Please," she whimpers, "I need you, oh, please," she continues, and then cries out my name as I enter her, shifting so I can slide my hands under her back and hold her to me as I start to stroke in and out of her. She wraps her arms around my back, shifting so she can take me in deeper, and finally that look of sad, lost resignation on her face starts to disappear as I continue to thrust into her heat. I keep telling her that she's strong and beautiful and brave and wonderful and lovable as I hold her and try to drive out all her feelings of loneliness, and the look in her eye as I repeat myself seems to shift until she finally believes me. I keep going, holding myself back as I continue to tell her I love her and that she's not alone, never has to be ever again-- she finally starts to lose herself as I clasp her tighter and start to speed my strokes in her.

She builds slowly, and I want her to forget everything, if only for a little bit, so I draw it out even longer, until she's crying out each time I return to her, telling her I love her with each completed thrust in her beautiful silken heat. Finally I can tell she's so close that the next return or two will send her over the edge, so I whisper "I'll always be with you, baby," in her ear with a firm stroke-- and she shatters, her arms holding me spasming as her whole body arches once against me, then relaxes as all the tension that's been building in her not just tonight but ever since we first started this leaves her. My own doesn't come until she finally lets go of everything, and it hardly registers because I'm just so relieved that she's better, if only for now.

I withdraw from her, still holding her close, and she whimpers. "Don't go," she says, her voice soft and her eyes merely sad, not empty anymore.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say, shifting just enough to find her covers and pull them us over us before pulling her close, pulling her so I can loop an arm and leg over her, convince her that I'll always hold onto her.

I place a small kiss on her lips, and she kisses me back, whispering "I love you, too, Seeley," as she drifts off to sleep.

When we wake in the morning, it's at the same time, and I open my eyes to see her doing the same. She gives me a smile-- a sad one, but a smile nonetheless-- and says only "Good morning."

I kiss her softly and repeat the greeting as she runs a hand up the arm I still have looped over her. She thinks for a moment with those eyes I could drown in and says "Don't go, stay. Forever."

I nod, kissing her again before I say...

_Oh, God._

_What am I going to do?_

_Forever? I want her to need me forever?_

_That's not about her. That's about me._

_What a miserable, needy bastard I am-- her whole life gets turned upside down and all I can do is dream about how I need her to need me so that I feel like I have someone who wants me. I want her to want me-- yes, her-- but it's still as much, maybe more about me than it is about her._

_It's always about me… why the hell did I let her let me go home last night after she just picked at her food? I should have stayed... not because I'm a terrible person who can't stop fantasizing about her even when she's in the middle of a horrific experience... although God knows if I'd have been strong enough to not take advantage of her because I want her so much.... But why did I let her kick me out? She deserves to know that she's not alone, even if it's just someone sleeping on her couch._

_Not only am I a coward, I'm a lousy... what, friend? how can I even call myself her friend when she's going through something like this and all I can think about is having sex with her and her helping me with all my sick, worthless shit? I'm a sick, sick, bastard who doesn't deserve her. But at least I can help her figure out what happened for better or worse._

_I just hope it's not as bad as it could be. I can't trust myself to not take advantage of her when she's vulnerable like this. _

_I can't let her know how much I need her-- I have to just let her know it's okay to need other people. I can't do that if I'm throwing myself at her feet because she's whatever she is. Forever? That's what she said to me in the dream. She's forever. I can't do that to her, make her have to deal with my miserable self forever._


End file.
